


Re: Friendly Fire

by Beanwhile



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bad Decisions, Coming In Pants, Desk Sex, Finger Sucking, Fraternization, Hand & Finger Kink, Kissing, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Wet Dream, porn-compliant bad plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-25
Updated: 2017-02-25
Packaged: 2018-09-26 22:41:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9927167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beanwhile/pseuds/Beanwhile
Summary: Lieutenant Mitaka is distressed by his persistent wet dreams about General Hux. In a moment of worry and lack of foresight, he sends the general a request for reconditioning, thinking it's the only way to solve his problem for good. Instead of forwarding the matter to the relevant officer, Hux takes it upon himself to help Mitaka without subjecting him to the cruel procedure.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Contains mild spoilers of the epilogue of Aftermath: Empire's End.

                Mitaka throws his head as far back as his neck allows, and feels the sheets bunching at the nape of his neck. He’s melting. Hux clutches his thighs and slides in an out of him, his lithe body a solid presence between Mitaka’s legs. Arousal makes it feel like a hundred hands are caressing his skin where Hux can’t reach to do it himself. He wants to tell the general how good it feels, how perfect, but his lips won’t even part. How is he breathing? Doesn’t matter, as long as Hux goes on, as long as he’s deep into Mitaka everything else can wait.

                The ringing of his alarm rips him out of the dream and drops him into reality. Hux disappears like vapour.

                Mitaka slams his palm on the alarm to silence it. His eyes are closed, he’s still not breathing: when the realisation strikes he gasps for air and tries to part his eyelids. Pain runs through his torso, and a moment later he becomes aware of his hammering heart. It still feels like he has left most of his body in the dream: only the bare necessities have made it to reality.

                Every gulp of air fills his lungs with unpleasantness. There’s the physical shock of disorientation; disappointment for having lost the dream; and finally—shame. He tries to prioritise it, to push the disgraceful others. They aren’t what the subconscious of a First Order officer should entertain in its spare time. Yet part of him yearns for it morning after morning.

                He raises his head from the pillow to assess the situation. Lying askew in his bunk, his legs are wide spread and tangled in the sheets. He tries to kick them away, aware he’s already behind with his morning routine. It’s a blessing his bunkmates are away: the shame is enough as it is, without witnesses to it.

                The little hope he has harboured vanishes when he sees the blotch on his underpants. His cock is still hard, arched under the tight fabric, and it throbs despite the freshly spent load. He palms it out of habit, and a shock of sensitivity shoots through the length, causing him to wince and shudder. It’s humiliating even with his bunkmates nowhere in sight, he thinks.

                The routine of preparing for the day calms him somewhat. It grounds him, but there remains a tight and heavy worry in his chest that would not melt away. For the fifth time this month he has dreamed of General Hux fucking him. The man is a nigh-feral force that mounts Mitaka like an animal, and the latter loves every moment of it. It is also the second time he wakes up spent. He has tried to find the reason, to rationalise it, to plead with himself even, and to no avail. It’s a matter of time until his work is affected as well.

                There’s a pang of guilt as he leaves his bed in less than perfect condition, but he’s already pushing it when exiting his room. A surprise inspection might earn him demerits for negligence; if he’s late to his shift on the bridge he’ll definitely get them. While an inspection on their level has been due for some time now, he has to risk it.

                On his way there he makes the decision and drafts a private message to General Hux. By the time he’s taken his post it’s already sent. There is no guarantee the general would even answer—but if he does it will be a step towards a resolution. Being sloppy hurts him more than leaving the dream of heat and possessive, gripping hands. The possibility of disappointing the flesh-and-blood General Hux hurts him more than parting with his ethereal, hypersexual doppelganger courtesy of Mitaka’s subconscious.

                He salutes Captain Harkov and upon dismissal bows his head to inspect the screen of his console.

                ***

                The message stands out and catches his attention; the content comes as a surprise so big he almost shows it to Phasma. She never has much to offer when it comes to officers and not the troops however. Hux will content with picturing her possible reactions in his mind. He rereads it a couple of times, thinking it at first a poor attempt at humour, a yelp for attention. He finds no indication of anything but deep and thorough seriousness, and a hint of concern if he reads between the lines. It’s… he can’t label is as anything other than a ‘first’.

                It’s enough to make him curious but requires more attention than he can currently spare, and he puts it away with the rest of matters he prefers to work on in his office. A template message is returned to the lieutenant for a meeting in the beginning of the Aurek shift, and then he follows Phasma to oversee troop training.

                ***

                Mitaka is surprised to see a message—is Thanisson up to no good again? His heart is prepared for evacuation when he notes it’s from General Hux. What would Hux want with him—but then he remembers he was the one to initiate the conversation. The confusion has lasted only a couple of seconds yet his heart is still hammering, and it will take a bit for it to calm down. When he thinks about it, he’s glad Hux has summoned him for a private meeting, rather than mention the issue on the bridge.

                He has to wait through the Cresh shift before he meets with the general. Once his bunk space is put back into order, none of his usual free time occupations can distract him. A nap would be a good decision, but he doesn’t trust himself to fall asleep, especially not when one of his bunkmates is also off duty. Mitaka thumbs through the limited entertainment on his datapad and lets a speech from Captain Harkov drone on while he lies down with his eyes closed to rest his body. The faint noises from the refresher almost lull him to sleep.

                Time passes like forgotten space debris.

                The chime announcing the end of Cresh makes him realise he’s dozed off. Luckily, there have been no dreams, and a glass of water is all he needs to feel awake and attentive. The exercise of walking to the General’s office moderates his worry, but there’s only so much calm he can muster when approaching his possible doom. A doom, he is aware, he has inflicted all by himself. The heavy feeling won’t budge from his chest.

                Hux meets him from behind his desk. His eyes are scanning the screen of a datapad, but he puts the device aside when he allows Mitaka to stand at ease.

                “Lieutenant Mitaka,” he says, and pauses for a moment. “It may be redundant to ask this of an officer of your rank, but might this be an attempt at humour, or poor management of alcohol abuse?” His face scrunches up when he utters ‘humour’, as if the word has left a rotten taste in his mouth on its way out.

                Mitaka tenses his muscles to prevent himself from flinching. ‘Poor management of alcohol abuse’ makes it sounds like he’s inept as an officer. Hux could’ve just said drunken messaging. “No, sir.”

                Hux purses his lips. “You are aware that reconditioning is a harsh procedure. Given you are the first officer to request it, all the more one commissioned with the Navy, I must ask you a couple of questions.” He glances towards the datapad on the desk. “You have hardly provided any details on the matter. Why request reconditioning from me when you can turn to Captain Harkov, in the temporary absence of the FOSB officer?”

                Mitaka has been afraid of this question long before he sent the message to Hux. Part of him has hoped Hux would sign it and go on about his day. He should’ve realised another senior officer might’ve done that; not General Hux though, not thorough, perfect _Hux_. Mitaka clenches his fingers behind his back and tries not to hunch under the intense blue gaze.

                “I… I’ve been having persistent indecent dreams. As a result, I’m not well rested, and I can feel it affecting my routine and performance as an officer. I visited medbay but the only thing they can offer me is deep sleep or no sleep at all. With a problem of such nature, I feel reconditioning is the fastest way to… to go back to normal.”

                Hux frowns. “Sound logic, which fails to mention why turn to me in the first place.”

                “Because I’ve been dreaming about you, sir,” Mitaka blurts out, and prepares to die after the offence he’s given. Or worse.

                The silence that follows is heavy enough to crush him, thick enough to choke him, and long enough to see him die of old age. The only hint of time passing is the progressive saturation of opalescent red over Hux’s cheekbones.

                “I will have you know, Lieutenant,” he hisses, and his tone makes Mitaka tremble, “that I would never force myself sexually upon anyone, Navy or otherwise.”

                Mitaka blinks.

                “Oh… No, no, no, sir. You… I… I _know_ you wouldn’t. It’s not an issue of consent.” He fumbles to rectify the miscommunication, but only manages to make it worse. _Well done, you idiot_ , he scolds himself.

                “And you have been having these dreams for how long?” Hux shoots another question. The abrupt shift in the conversation does not escape Mitaka’s notice. It’s a wonder the additional information has done little to dissuade Hux from taking him seriously.

                “Five in the past two months, sir, with decreasing pauses in between.”

                Hux holds his gaze for another long moment, then looks down and pulls another datapad closer to himself. “As I said, this is a first. I will need some time to assess the situation.” He pauses to lick his lips and glances at Mitaka. “Your discretion on the matter… it was wise of you to turn to me. I suppose you would like to keep the issue between ourselves.” It’s not even a question. And how is Hux to describe the situation, should he opt to forward it to the appropriate officer? _Captain Harkov, your lieutenant has been masturbating about me_ would have been funny if the situation had remained theoretical.

                “Of course, sir,” Mitaka agrees. The mixture of absurdity and embarrassment is unpleasant, to say the least. It was wrong to message Hux, to succumb to the moment of weakness. With every passing second the knowledge deepens his misery.

                If his offence of lewdness does not deserve of reconditioning, the stupidity to confess to his object of desire definitely does.

                ***

                Hux has to imagine containing a rathtar in a box too small to fit it, and shove it at the bottom of his thoughts where it won’t bother him for a while. A slimy tentacle of a thought lashes out at him, but he cuts it in half. He has to be stern with this. Nothing to do at present.

                His day goes by as any other.

                It is only when he admits to physical weariness that he wraps up for the day and goes back to his quarters. Sensing his weakness, the request of Lieutenant Mitaka springs open and latches onto his mind. Hux closes his eyes and lets it exhaust itself in a storm of arguments and counter-arguments. Where does he even begin with this?

                He should close the case and chastise the lieutenant for wasting both his and Hux’s time. Mitaka is not under his jurisdiction for him to settle the matter. Reconditioning is harsh and not something to be toyed with. The human mind can only take so much before it snaps. The consequences of abuse have always been grand, with plenty of collateral damage. If something goes wrong, it would require hand-picking a replacement. He does not want to think how he is to explain to Harkov that yes, he had allowed one of her most important bridge officers to undergo reconditioning and wreck himself.

                Hux runs his fingers over his hair, and the stiff, gelled locks resist his hand. He sets off for the refresher to cleanse. After the much needed shower, he holds his own gaze while combing back the damp locks (years of regulation part them for him: the comb is only for minor adjustments). _Because I have been dreaming about you, sir_ echoes in his mind, and he cannot help but give his bare torso a critical look. He could be offended that the lieutenant’s subconscious has done away with his rank and power, all the hard work and blood, and has gone straight to his body, which is…

                He hesitates in his thoughts. His body is a tool of many purposes, but Mitaka’s dreams have used it for pure carnal pleasure. Multiple times, and still counting.

                Has he been on the giving or receiving?

                He frowns at his navel for such thoughts. It is not relevant, even if his curiosity is roused. But he also knows his limits, and at this hour he is too tired to give the matter any more serious consideration. He lets the thought unspool into nothing in particular, in vain hope of a quick and convenient solution springing to mind.

                No, loyal-to-a-fault Mitaka would never dream of fucking Hux like a pleasure slave. Surely he knows of ways to satisfy without being the aggressor.

Hux pauses.

                He is overthinking. He is overthinking because he likes Mitaka’s work and his value as a bridge officer. Correction: Hux is pleased with Mitaka’s loyalty to an outsider to the Navy. Loyalty to Hux, instead of the Order, all the more when so transparent, is endearing and tempting. Grand Admiral Sloane has warned him about such things, has told him the stories of the chafe between his father and Tarkin on the matter. And yet Hux finds it hard _not_ to encourage it more amongst officers of all branches. He never knows when his path will diverge from that of the Supreme Leader.

                The cold refresher floor makes him shift his weight from foot to foot. A shudder runs through his body and makes the hairs on his limbs stand. He crosses his hands and his mirror image does the same.

                Mitaka has seen no more than a vague outline of his body, he continues despite the nagging chill of drying skin, and it has haunted him for how long? At least two months, who knows how many more before it. Hux drops one hand to run his fingertips over his abdomen, swerving to outline the bony hip. Slight rather than slim; no hint that he, too, trains and passes the physicals. The pale skin which comes with a life spent on Star Destroyers. A wispy trail of red hairs divides his lower abdomen in two, running down to flow into the larger patch around his genitals.

                Hux begrudgingly admits defeat to the cold floor and goes to bed. The few ideas and irrelevant thoughts follow him there. He prefers to think it is because he is a diligent problem-solver, rather than aroused from thinking about sex and naked bodies.

                He lies in bed, lights at 0 per cent to give his eyes the much needed rest, and stares at the darkness behind his eyelids. Has the lieutenant imagined them fucking on his little officer cot, or in Hux’s bed? His bed is large and comfortable, if anything else. He enjoys the well-deserved privilege. Or perhaps Mitaka’s thoughts have entwined with duty, and he has been dreaming of desecrated desks and messy uniforms? That kind of imagery fits the lieutenant better.

                Holding that line of thought, Hux’s fingers trace the hairs on his belly and sneak under the band of his underpants. His cock is unusually responsive, pulsing with pleasure as soon as the strokes become regular. It is uncanny, he is pleasuring himself to the thoughts of a junior navy officer turning his admiration into physical desire, but it is a rare opportunity, and Hux is not one to miss any opportunity.

                He licks his fingertips and brings his hand back under the covers. Could it be this which weaves itself into Mitaka’s dreams? General Hux getting himself off, biting down on his lip, wet fingers teasing the slit? Mitaka could not know it is one of the fastest ways for Hux to come—he does not plan on dragging it out.

                The lieutenant is not as bold as to finger himself when awake and conscious, especially if he is so distressed by the unsolicited sexual dreams, Hux reasons. His ass would need a proper amount of fingering and stretching. The thought makes him squeeze his cock hard enough for pain to twinge and fuel his arousal. _He is more of a silent type_ , Hux continues, but it would be such an honour for the lieutenant to be pinned against a desk and fucked so well the man would gasp and whimper. Feeling so good words cannot even begin to cover it.

                Hux strokes himself faster. He would love to take his time with the sweet lieutenant, fuck him in a variety of positions, and drain him so he would sleep like the dead for a month—

                The last stroke almost makes him come, and he shudders and gasps. He has at hand everything he needs to solve the problem—literally.

                His strokes slow down and dwindle into teasing. Careful light brushes over the shaft and the couple of veins bulging under the delicate skin, until he is brimming with impatience, and squeezes hard again. The new pace is fast and steady: he comes after about a dozen strokes. He has done the right amount of teasing, it seems. His orgasm is one of the better ones: slow to come and go, instead of making his groin hypersensitive in a short time. He lets out a grunt, and enjoys milking out the last drops of warm come onto his belly.

                _What a mess_ , he thinks while sweeping as much of it as possible and licking it off his fingers. Like he is back in the Academy, and all evidence must be eradicated. He has his own room now though, noise insulation and no security feed. He can scream as he fucks his own hand if it pleases him, but old habits are hard to uproot and dispose of. He wipes the rest and falls asleep soon after.

                His alarm does not startle him, as it often happens. A quick mental scan tells him when he has fallen asleep. His body can testify with a rare energy he has not felt in a while. He contemplates masturbating again in the refresher, but that would be pushing it.

                By the time he is dressed he is reorganising his schedule to accommodate another, longer meeting with Lieutenant Mitaka.

                ***

                Mitaka’s comlink buzzes with the signal for a private message. He pulls it out, frowning a bit— no one would message him mid-shift unless it is important; and wishes he hasn’t. His heart rate speeds up like a TIE fighter let loose. Hux has provided him with the time for their next ‘appointment’, and no indication whatsoever of the decision he’s reached. Of course.

                Mitaka has had his time to mull over the request, and as much time to regret it. He had overreacted and done a silly and embarrassing thing, that much is evident. The fact that the general is still sparing him some of his precious time is a miracle in itself. If Mitaka had separated his professional admiration from his libido none of this would be happening. And yet he had gone and told Hux he’s having wet dreams about him. Not the details, not the vividness of the dreams— but the gist of it.

                What is Hux to do with such information? Perhaps Mitaka deserves to undergo reconditioning, after such a demonstration of ineptitude.

                He doesn’t like it, but he won’t blame Hux if the general decides in favour of it. He will know very soon: until then, he will take his solace in a longer shower and a drink in the recreational area after his shift has ended. He nurses half of the usual amount one would order, and lets it fight the tension in his body. On an empty stomach, it’s the right amount—he doesn’t want to be drunk for his meeting with Hux, merely… calm. It might prevent an embarrassing scene if he’s sent to reconditioning. They’ll write about him in the future Academy textbooks, he tells himself in quasi-amusement.

                As expected, Hux’s expression upon admitting him is as telling as a stormtrooper’s helmet. He’s quick to sort through his work on the datapad in front of him, and looks up to hold Mitaka’s gaze.

                “Lieutenant? You appear troubled.”

                “Somewhat, sir,” Mitaka admits. There is a nudge from the alcohol to be _too_ honest, and he tries to resist it. “I didn’t think my issue would take so much of your time. I regret to have bothered you.”

                Hux rests his forearms on the desk and laces gloved fingers together. “Second thoughts about reconditioning?” He doesn’t smile but his expression softens, and his tone has a hint of amusement to it, almost a tease. Mitaka offers him a nervous smile.

                “Have to admit to it, sir.” He swallows, and allows himself a little boldness: “If my work has not suffered since out last conversation, I was wondering if punishment could be postponed.”

                Hux takes a long look at him. “According to Captain Harkov, there has been no indication of your performance worsening in the time frame you have provided me. You do not need reconditioning, and I will not demand you undergo the procedure for no other reason but our shared mental comfort.”

                Relief washes over Mitaka’s body like water from the shower, so powerful it almost drags him down to the floor. He shifts his weight, trying not to swoon. His muscles are ready to relax and his joints to bend, and it’s hard to keep it all prim and proper since Hux is still talking.

                “… and upon reviewing your file the only real problem I see is your being troubled by the persistent… physical attraction to my person. Am I correct?”

                Hux could have shot him in the face and it wouldn’t have burned as much. Fire spreads under his skin upon the mention of his offense. He could feel his cheeks flushing with colour. The general is of course right, but how is Mitaka to admit it in words that will keep him out of trouble if someone else gets involved? Even after messaging Hux he has continued to deny it, and bury it deep inside where it would dissipate with time.

                Its persistence was, at the time, the reason he requested reconditioning: to tear himself apart and hope to be reconstructed clean and purified from the non-regulation interest in General Hux. His inability to go through may cost him in the future, but the survival instinct had prevailed.

                “Yes, sir.” His stutter is barely audible.

                Hux frowns and Mitaka is ready to recite his pledge to the Order since he knows no funeral rites. “Speak up, Lieutenant.”

                “Yes, sir,” Mitaka manages. “You are correct.”

                Hux’s brows relax and he nods. There is a moment of silence before he catches Mitaka’s gaze again. “There is a choice here to be made, Lieutenant. You can work on the problem on your own. We will not speak nor think of it, unless it affects your work. Depending on the severity of an eventual offence, there will be punishment.”

                He pauses for a beat to make sure Mitaka has processed the information. “Or, if you would like, you can tackle it under my direct guidance.”

                Mitaka tries not to laugh, or gape, or fall to the floor. If he’d _like_? _Direct guidance_? He knows Hux likes to be involved with the flagship as much as he is with the Starkiller project, but to dedicate time to a single person? Mitaka has no idea how to respond. He doesn’t want to refuse Hux, though it’s important to him to stay low on the general's list of priorities.

                “The sooner a problem is solved the better, sir,” he begins. The burning under his skin grows stronger. He’s not sure how continuous exposure to his object of desire will help solve the problem, but Hux has not been made a general of the First Order at his age for the lack of foresight. Mitaka trusts him—he truly does. “I will be grateful for any guidance and advice you elect to give me, sir.”

                Hux nods. “I like to hear officers under my command tackle difficulties with determination. It pleases me that you are one such officer.”

                Mitaka clenches his jaws to prevent himself from biting his lip. He’s not used to praise from high places.

                Hux stands up from his chair and circles around the desk to approach him. His steps are steady and languid. He doesn’t stop in front of Mitaka but passes him, and the sound of his boots deafens only when he’s behind Mitaka. When he speaks again his voice is softer, yet dangerous in ways Mitaka cannot name. There is an entrapment of some sort closing around him, a vague feeling of impending doom. He’s either become Force-sensitive or the last remnants of alcohol circulating his system are making the situation seem worse than it actually is.

                “The Order may be strict, but discipline must rule if we are to reunite the galaxy, Lieutenant. However… this does not mean we do not honour our officers’ achievements and progress.”

                Mitaka shivers. Speeches can turn terrifying with a word, and Hux’s vagueness does little to indicate where he’s going with a grand opening such as this. Will Mitaka be sacrificed to a greater purpose all of a sudden?

                Taking a step to come to his side, Hux puts a hand on his shoulder. Mitaka’s eyes dart towards it before he could stop himself. Military habit is all that keeps him from turning his head to inspect the peculiar gesture of his CO.

                “You are a most capable officer, Lieutenant Mitaka. I would like you to see the issue from a different perspective. Have you considered the attraction as a form of dedicated service?”

                Mitaka gives in to temptation and turns his head to get a better look at Hux’s gloved hand on his shoulder. The general is closer than expected, and the quick glance almost turns into a scrutiny of the body next to him. Mitaka has never been so close to General Hux: it’s a challenge not to abandon propriety, and catalogue the finer details of Hux’s beauty by the shameless act of staring. After all, Hux is helping him overcome the issue, not deepen it. Isn't he?

                Upon closer inspection of the distance between them, he’s not as sure. Perhaps it’s his imagination and desire, but it seems to him that Hux is _encouraging_ physical intimacy. Could be wishful thinking, yet the hand on the shoulder, the soft voice, the distance—or rather, the lack of it…

                “Yes, sir.” He’s not sure what he’s saying yes to. Hux probably only needs him for emphasis in order to reach his point. What is the general actually doing? Is Mitaka to get worse before he gets better? Control is hard to maintain, and his voice has grown hoarse with arousal. Let them stay like this a bit longer, a minute more. Hux can give him any orders in the meantime.

                “Excellent,” Hux purrs, and the way he pronounces the lateral feels like a shot to the groin to Mitaka, and results in an erection so fast it’s alarming. He whimpers, but only in his mind.

                Hux caresses his cheek with the back of his fingers.

                “So eager,” he murmurs. A finger slides towards Mitaka’s mouth and the latter has to make conscious effort not to lick it until he can taste the flesh underneath. A sad thought occurs to him: this is a lucid dream and he’ll wake up to another pair of soiled underpants. And a message to a location where he’s to be wiped like a droid. _Serves me right_.

                “Would you like to demonstrate this servitude?” Hux’s voice is so soft he must be imaginin—and then it _clicks_. Hux has _no_ intention of solving Mitaka’s problem. He won’t sit down with another officer and give him the talk about the Kiros Birds and the Gizka, with frequent notes on why fraternisation is a bad idea. To Hux, Mitaka is an officer who wants to fuck him for the sake of it, rather than to climb the ranks. It wouldn’t be Hux if he didn’t seize the opportunity. Mitaka’s body tenses and he almost jumps at the invitation, the wavers once again. He’s sure he has not misread the signs—but what would Hux like? Service, loyalty—fine things, but how do they translate into the opening acts of fucking one’s CO?

                Licking the glove might not be such a bad idea after all. Mitaka takes the fingers lingering around his face and presses his lips against them. With the re-contextualisation of his situation, discipline is only holding for show. He doesn’t bother schooling his features into the mask of a good and attentive officer. When he turns Hux’s hand around, a pale sliver of skin flashes between the sleeve and the glove. Mitaka licks his lips and presses them against that bit of skin, with reverie and promise. Oral worship: even Hux would have trouble resisting it.

                A soft sigh in response. It seems that he can’t.

                “A very bold promise, Lieutenant,” Hux notes. He takes another step and his chest presses against Mitaka’s shoulder and arm. The hand Mitaka has been lavishing with affection reaches to caress his cheek and jawline. It turns his head to the side and tilts it up to make him meet Hux’s gaze.

                He tries. He honestly does, but his eyes dart up and down the stunning face to take inventory. Smooth lips, strand of hair threatening to break free and hang over the forehead, the glint of eyelashes catching the harsh light of the room. Only then he’s ready to look Hux in the eyes. Once their gazes lock, Mitaka grows aware of his own heartbeat: strong and bit insistent, reminding him to take a deeper breath before he hurts himself. Yet all he can do is suck in small breaths and release them, lest he shatters the moment.

                “Would you keep it?” Hux prompts. His voice has dropped to a near whisper and Mitaka’s eyes drop to look at the general’s lips while they move. He wants to taste them already, take them between his teeth to make sure they’re real…

                “Yes, sir,” he answers out of habit. He has hardly heard what he’s agreeing to again. “Anything you order me to do, sir, I’ll do it.” His exasperated lungs catch up with him. He fills his chest with air but releases it just as fast, with a faint hissing noise from between his teeth. He’s struggling to keep his body still when all he wants to do is dispense with the ritual testing of waters and press against Hux. For so long he has struggled to separate attraction and admiration: but if Hux wants him too, that’s an entirely different situation. To the nine Corellian hells with propriety.

                He turns his head and attention back to Hux’s hand and tugs at the glove at every fingertip, until the black material is loose enough to be pulled off. He takes his time with this: under his ministrations, a crescent moon of skin rises between the sleeve and the cuff of the glove, gaining, until Hux’s hand is bare. Exposed to air and another’s gaze the fingers twitch, but do not curl up into a fist. Hux takes another step around and stands in front of Mitaka; his hands move with him, and the fingers brush against Mitaka’s bottom lip.

                Mitaka cannot help himself, and bows his head to kiss them. It is a bit embarrassing, to admire something so ordinary because he sees it bare for the first time; yet the skin and bone feel divine under his lips. It’s a thing of beauty: pale and warm, with nails long enough to leave scratches if they dig deeper—and Mitaka closes his eyes at the thought of those nails sinking in his skin, and focuses on the kisses. He will take every bit of skin Hux deigns to offer; the protruding bones, the delicate wrist, the knuckles and the fingers.

                A passive observer until then, Hux presses his index finger against Mitaka’s bottom lip and drags it down to reveal the teeth and gum. Happy to feel the reciprocation, Mitaka gives chase and wraps his mouth around the tip.

                The tension rises. Hux is quick to push the finger deeper in, and Mitaka meets it with his tongue to feel the texture of the skin. The digit twitches and tenses every time it encounters something in Mitaka’s mouth, but nonetheless explores with curiosity. It goes so deep Hux has to curl his other fingers to allow the intrusion.

                It’s hard to concentrate on anything else, but Mitaka tries to listen to the general’s breathing for feedback. Hux seems to like touching teeth, so Mitaka sinks his incisors until he feels the firmness of the bone beneath. The reward is immediate: Hux hisses and draws closer, pushing a leg between Mitaka’s. Mitaka’s eyes snap open to assess the situation, and Hux smiles at him.

                It’s not a beaming smile, or one which alters the rest of the facial features by its sheer presence. Hux’s lips are curved, the corners of his mouth set only a bit deeper. It’s his eyes that have changed, his eyes which have gained a naughty twinkle, and it makes Mitaka feel light-headed. He tries to smile back, as much as he can with a finger in his mouth.

                Hux slips it out, grabs Mitaka’s chin, and pulls him into a kiss.

                Mitaka has to put his hands on Hux’s chest and clutch at the uniform to prevent himself from crumbling on the floor. Hux kisses the way he leads ( _the way he fucks,_ the thought flies through Mitaka’s mind too fast to be stopped): a confident and solid presence. His lips are firm and dry and hot, so hot Mitaka parts his own and licks them to relieve the burning flesh.

                Hux takes it as permission. His hands slide down to Mitaka’s hips and he pulls him in, pressing their bodies together. Their belt buckles click-clack when they catch at the edges, the height difference too great to press them against each other. Mitaka is aware he’s ruining the uniform; on the other hand, Hux has taken off his glove so it’s safe to assume they’ve abandoned propriety altogether and are redefining the borders of indecency. Hux’s tongue swipes over Mitaka’s lips but doesn’t push in despite the invitation of Mitaka’s open mouth.

                His relative inexperience seems vast to him now: he mimics Hux’s gestures, alternating so it’s not a rigid back-and-forth exchange. He fears Hux would change his mind and withdraw scowling, and send him away for being inept at this most basic thing, too. In his dreams it has been so smooth, so natural, and the contrast with reality is disheartening. In a desperate attempt to demonstrate his eagerness he pushes his hands up, feeling Hux’s chest, and wraps them around the general’s neck to keep him still.

                Hux all but tries to lift him from the ground to compensate for the height difference. There is a palpable hunger in the renewed attack of his kisses, in the way he sucks in Mitaka’s tongue and bites it. It’s not even a bite—it’s a demonstration of his precision and restraint. Mitaka shivers at the thought of what would happen should that restraint fall apart.

                Hux lets out a low groan. He doesn’t sound displeased, yet he withdraws: not completely, not far away; enough to re-establish eye contact.

                “Lieutenant?”

                Mitaka’s fingers twitch. He wishes he, too, had taken his gloves off so he could enjoy the bare skin over the general’s collar, and the locks of bright red hair.

                “Apologies, sir.” He bites his bottom lip in frustration. His body is shivering despite his best attempts to calm it down. “I… I am a little overwhelmed. I didn’t expect such a turn of events.”

                He wishes he could hide his face in Hux’s chest, yet somehow that would be the one inappropriate thing to do. It would be intimate, yet a wrong kind of intimacy. It is a gesture he associates with long-lasting and loving relationships, not partnering up for sex. He does not break the eye contact and hopes the jokes of Hux’s omniscience are somehow true, and the man could see his lieutenant’s sincerity.

                Hux steals another kiss which leaves Mitaka breathless. The general’s hands relax their vicious grip and explore Mitaka’s waist until the fingers hook into the belt and stop there. Hux licks his lips.

                “You never told me what your dreams entail, Lieutenant.” He turns them around like in a dance, fingers under the belt pushing at Mitaka’s abdomen until the latter’s ass presses against the edge of the desk. He stops there but Hux isn’t done and presses flush against him.

                For the first time Mitaka becomes aware that Hux, too, is hard, as hard as the desk pressing into his buttocks. He can’t tell much else from between two sets of uniform, but it feels like a good length to straddle and ride until his body is driven into such thorough orgasmic relief he’ll need stormtroopers to pull him off it.

                “I dream of…” he trails off. The way he’s begun the sentence makes the double meaning inescapable. Hux caresses his hip to encourage him. “You take me on the desk and…” He falters again and pauses to steady his breathing, else he might choke on his own blistering shame. “You are so thorough I can barely walk afterwards.”

                He’s dancing around the specifics, but now that he is to share his sexual dreams with Hux his courage fails him. How is he to go about it? He glances at Hux. The general seems composed but he’s breathing through parted lips, which look all the more inviting when wet and glistening. Mitaka regrets not enjoying properly their first two kisses, and promises himself to pay attention next time. He’s not sure he could muster any concentration if Hux puts them anywhere else on his body, but that’s a thought for later.

                Hux nods, encouraging him to continue. When Mitaka manages to speak again his voice has regained steadiness.

                “You hold me down and bite me everywhere the uniform would cover it, so it will remind me day and night that I’m yours to do as you please.”

                Hux grinds his hips against Mitaka at the new information—it’s a slow and lazy movement, another demonstration of meticulous precision. It makes him shiver while Hux toys with his belt.

                “I trust our occupation does not come in the way of duty?” he murmurs, as if to himself, and bows his head to drag his lips over Mitaka’s earlobe. His hot breath feels like a lick of the tongue.

                It’s so unlike him to joke, yet the joke itself is so in character Mitaka can’t help a chuckle. Hux doesn’t chastise him for it. On the contrary: he makes little noises of impatience, sighs and almost-laughs, lips never leaving Mitaka’s ear. Mitaka feels like, should he turn his head, he might catch a ghost of a grin.

                “Of course not, sir,” he hurries to reassure. He yields to the temptation and turns his head to steal a kiss from Hux while his guard is down. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

                Hux holds the kiss for one, two, three heartbeats, and then draws back to command: “Undress.” His voice comes out less than perfect, hoarse with want, and the latter echoes in Mitaka’s own chest and groin. He’s flipped to face the desk, and hears Hux’s footsteps go away in the direction of the adjacent refresher.

                Mitaka’s hands rush to undo his uniform. Gloves, belt, and tunic all hit the floor, and he’s fighting his shirt when Hux returns. The general hovers behind Mitaka, breathing on his neck for a little tease. He’s tall enough to prop his chin on Mitaka’s shoulder; the touch startles him a little, and his already struggling hands tangle in a mess of fabric. There’s a quiet chuckle in his ear that threatens to melt his knees. At least it will solve the predicament of breeches and boots.

                Hux leans against Mitaka. The touch of cool fabric tells him the general is still dressed, but there’s no sign of the belt buckle’s metal: the belt is missing. “Allow me.” His hand comes into Mitaka’s vision to throw two bacta packs on the desk, and withdraws back to ease Mitaka out of his clothes. Hux tugs here, pulls there, his touches so light they’re not even caresses, and before Mitaka knows it he’s swinging his arms back for Hux to pull the shirt off. The general’s fingertips send little shocks through Mitaka’s body like they’re charged with electricity. The other glove has been taken off, too.

                Mitaka’s not sure what to do with the freed appendages, and the hesitation costs him: Hux’s hand covers his erection and runs up and down to assess the length. The touch draws a stuttering breath from Mitaka’s lungs. He wants to grind against it, but is hesitant to lose the pressure against his ass. It’s a tragedy.

                “Sir?” His voice is quiet, but he prefers it to the high-pitched squeaks he’s prone to when panicking.

                “Yes, Lieutenant?”

                “How much… initiative would you require from me for this?”

                He’s not sure how to phrase the question, and relies on Hux to understand the idea behind it. It would be unwise to blunder around and push his luck, even if the newness of the situation is a solid excuse. ‘Who’s getting it this time’ is not something he would like to utter to General Hux.

                Hux chuckles in his ear. Mitaka finds his head tilting back on its own accord to catch the sound better.

                “I did not achieve my current rank by delegating my responsibilities, Lieutenant,” Hux says. To demonstrate, he undoes Mitaka’s breeches and slides his fingers under the band of his underpants.

                The touch of cool digits against his heated skin is breath-taking. There’s a stark contrast between this and the memories of rushed exchanges in public showers, or the gloves-on ones in cleaning closets and dark corners. It makes him want to whine. It clutches at his chest with an invisible hand while Hux’s own strokes his cock with movements that could only be described as deft and playful.

                Physical input from his groin breaks that thought and wipes away anything that is not relevant to being on the receiving end of General Hux’s busy hand. If Hux’s ‘guidance’ has been ‘sex’ from the onset he should be focusing on it, and not the moral implications. Being an object of desire and the reciprocity of lust makes him all the more eager to submit to Hux’s guidance.

                “Yes, sir,” Mitaka breathes out in a weak attempt to show he sees the relevance of Hux’s answer. He gets the hint but, in the end, it feels uncanny to be completely on the receiving end. “May I touch you?”

                “You’re welcome to do so,” Hux tells him. Before Mitaka has even processed the permission the general pulls down his underpants and bares his ass.

                Mitaka’s groan runs out of air before he’s even finished. Hux’s decisive gestures and control are arousing to experience. He puts his hands on the desk to shift his weight and thrust his ass out. He doesn’t have the confidence of an experienced fraterniser but he knows a thing or two.

                Hux lets out a low humming sound and caresses the offering. His finger is careful, almost tender, especially when it traces the curve of Mitaka’s perineum. Mitaka’s eyes flutter closed. Despite the heated situation, it’s been ages since he’s been on the receiving end of hands so delicate in their approach. He can't quite believe how the situation has turned, and makes a mental note to demonstrate more of his enthusiasm. The teasing touches make his muscles flutter and tense; if he’s noticed, Hux doesn’t linger. His hand lets go of Mitaka’s flesh and pulls down the undergarment and breeches to knee level where they won’t be in the way.

                Mitaka is preparing himself for the cold touch of bacta when he feels Hux step away from him. Curious, he turns his head to see what the matter is. The strain of the angle allows him to barely catch Hux’s gaze. The general does not break eye contact: smiling a little, he puts a hand on Mitaka’s hip, puts one knee on the floor, and presses his (very wet) lips against the curve of Mitaka’s ass. Mitaka’s neck hurts and his eyes are straining but he can’t make himself look away from the surreal image. His cock throbs and grows hard enough for the tip to press against the smooth front of the desk. The cold sensation sends shudders up his body but he daren’t move, he wants to stay like this forever looking at Hux kissing his buttcheek like it’s not an anatomical part but the love interest in a holodrama. The desk is cool but Hux’s lips are soft and Mitaka finds himself shifting his pelvis to get a firmer kiss.

                His little ploy doesn’t go unnoticed. Hux’s hand on his hip holds him steady, and Hux opens his mouth further to drag his bottom teeth up Mitaka’s ass on his way up. Those are quickly replaced with the general’s still firm, still covered erection. Mitaka drops his head and closes his eyes while pushing against Hux with more confidence. Freed from the guilt, it builds on Hux’s willingness to play around. Why tell him how willing and enthusiastic he is when he can show it? Hux hears and reads numerous compliments and reassurances of loyalty; can they get him hard, can they get him off?

                Hux sighs in appreciation and puts his other hand on Mitaka’s free hip to steady him. He presses back, though he does refrain from grinding. Mitaka is grateful: he can go without chafed skin in such a sensitive place, especially when Hux’s erection has pushed between his buttocks. Even the thought of dry cloth rubbing there is painful to bear. Hux tugs at him and leans over him to murmur in his ear:

                “So willing,” he says, running his hands up and down Mitaka’s hips and thighs, “are you this willing when you dream of me?”

                “Yes, sir,” Mitaka reassures him. ‘This willing’ barely covers it.

                “And I?”

                “Rougher.” Mitaka pauses for a moment to find a phrase which describes with accuracy the Hux of his dreams. “Though not cruel for the sake of it.”

                Hux _ah_ s, and Mitaka can almost sense the grin on the general’s lips; a lazy one, content, like his every movement. The general retrieves one of the bacta packs and steps back, which is followed by the sounds of rustling and ripping. Mitaka has to bite his lip at the loss of contact and the cool air on his skin, but the promise of greater pleasure is worth waiting for. As if sensing his mild impatience, Hux puts a hand back on Mitaka’s hip. His grip is firmer now, perhaps the general trying to be rougher.

                “It is important that you inform me of any unwanted discomforts, Lieutenant,” he says. Cold slickness presses into the cleft of Mitaka’s ass and spreads around his rim. In his surprise he shivers, but Hux’s hand prevents him from wriggling away. Bacta is quick to warm up, he has to remind himself. “This is not a punishment.”

                _Feels like a reward for the stupidest thing I’ve done_ , Mitaka thinks, but he keeps that one to himself. “Duly noted, sir,” he chimes instead. He’s glad to notice his voice retains its steadiness, to the point where he sounds almost happy.

                Hux pats his flank. “Good.”

                The praise makes Mitaka blush and bow his head to hide his face and ears from Hux, the burning traitors. The bacta is already tolerable.

                He pushes against the general’s hand when he grows used to two fingers, it’s inevitable. Hux’s careful scissoring movements miss Mitaka’s prostate, but they do coax his rim into further relaxation. Mitaka’s muscles tense and relax, and he lets out a quiet sigh of mounting impatience. He’s easy to read to begin with, and hopes Hux will take advantage of that.

                “Sir,” he breathes; he turns his head to the side once more and tries to catch the general’s gaze. “Sir, I’m ready.”

                It’s a delight to express his need and gluttony. He still can’t think of appropriate language that satisfies both speaking about sex and doing so in the presence of an officer with Hux’s seniority. ‘Get on with it’ is not something he would say to Hux ever, despite how informal the situation is.

                “You’re being impatient, Lieutenant,” the general teases, but withdraws his fingers nonetheless. A moment later he presses his cock against Mitaka’s rim, coated in cooler bacta, and begins pushing in. The hand on Mitaka’s hip twitches.

                _Can you blame me_ , Mitaka thinks to himself. He closes his eyes and tries to focus on imagining the view behind him: Hux’s expression, his posture, the length of his cock, the bristle of ginger hair around the base. His arms begin to tremble and he eases his body onto the desk, shuddering when the surface peppers his skin with cold kisses. He plants his burning forehead on it and breathes while Hux continues to push. Warmth going in, warmth going out.

                He’s dreamed about this moment so many times he has stopped counting. There’s only the haze of pleasure he remembers from most; the contrast between it and the tension of reality is astounding. Everything about having sex with Hux is so real; so detailed in its existence he can’t keep up with all the information his senses are feeding to his brain. The general’s hands are on Mitaka’s hips, holding him steady: if he tries to think about it his muscle quivers around Hux’s hard shaft.

                There is a feeling of ease when Hux is all the way in. The fingers that hold Mitaka squeeze a bit harder—a stray nerve signal rather than a sign—and then relax again. Mitaka sucks in his bottom lip. In this position he can’t move around, save for his pelvis, and that will alter the angle only so much. He’s at Hux’s mercy now, or as he hopes, the lack of it. It will be a feat if he doesn’t start begging from the onset.

                An enterprise which proves harder than expected. What feels like ten minutes later Hux is not slow—he’s barely moving, even if, at some point, he’s started breathing through his mouth (if the soft sighs are anything to judge by). Mitaka tries to push against him, anything to disrupt the torturous tempo. When he tries to clench it elicits another twitch of the fingers on his hips. _Some progress,_ he thinks.

                “Lieutenant,” the general huffs, “you appear determined to coax me into harshness.” The words are underlined by languid pulls and thrusts, each harder than the previous: an improvement Mitaka has been hoping for. His back arches at the pleasure, and the curve pulls his torso away from the desk.

                “Yes,” he moans, and tries to grind against the general as much as that iron grip would permit him. “Yes, sir, please.” Arousal makes his cock press against the desk again. The shock of cool metal sends a tinge up his length, making him claw at the desk with his fingers. He can feel the slickness of precome smearing over his slit and the piece of furniture. It makes him moan again.

                “Very well.”

                Hux moves his hands from Mitaka’s hips to his lower back, feeling around until his palms press at the pelvic bone. He shifts his weight: with that one motion Mitaka’s breath is forced out of his belly, and he’s pinned to the desk, unable to move away from Hux’s groin.

                And then Hux pulls back, lingers, and slides back in.

                It’s neither harsh nor painful, especially after the generous amount of fingering and bacta, but it’s enough to make Mitaka gasp in surprise. Pinned under Hux’s weight, his ass receives the additional blow of inertia stopped dead in its tracks right where the general hits Mitaka’s buttocks. Mitaka has to suck in a breath. He’s not sure if the growing lightheadedness is due to poor breathing or the almost unreal situation he’s found himself in. Perhaps it’s both.

                Hux pulls out and Mitaka thinks he can feel the coronal ridge teasing his hole. The general lingers for a moment or two, and then slams back in. And then he repeats. Through the pleasure overtaking his consciousness, Mitaka abandons all breathing tactics and opens his mouth to take in all the air he can. Ego-stroking as it might sound, he thinks Hux would prefer to keep his rank rather than explain to third parties how he murdered a junior officer by being breath-taking at sex. Mitaka would love to live another shift and another session of personal guidance. He brings his hands underneath the shoulders to give his chest some breathing space. Hux’s pace is maddening, his pauses long enough to forbid the pleasure from building up into a release Mitaka already craves.

                Faster, he wants to beg, please faster. The tip of Hux’s cock, on the other hand, brushes against his prostate _too fast_. Mitaka tries to enjoy every aspect of this, he truly does. He wants to remember the warmth of Hux's body enveloping him whenever the general leans in, the obscene slapping noises. Just as much, now that they’re fucking, he wants to come and make Hux come, too.

                Not that he’s in a position to choose. He adjusts his arms again, before they have gone numb, as the unrelenting thrusts push him towards the first scenario. He’s ready to weep at Hux’s precision. Despite the pauses Hux is eager, thrusting into his subordinate with determination. Mitaka has never thought the physical attraction could be mutual, and Hux's vigour makes him moan and _laugh_. He’s whimpering at every exhale, at every thrust, when the pleasure finally begins escalating at distinguishable speed.

                “Faster.”

                It takes him a moment, between two thrusts, to realise he’s said it out loud. He tries to change the positioning of his forearms again, and shift the rest of his body into a position that will grant him the elusive key to coming. His fingers continue to clutch and claw at the surface of the desk. He turns his head and tries to look at Hux, or at least speak in his general direction.

                “Sir, _please_ , I’m so close—“

                Hux doesn’t give a sign he’ll grant the plea but his next thrust, _blissful perfect thrust_ , comes much faster. If the pace keeps up, if Hux could keep up…

                Mitaka’s restless fingers press and sink in the desk. He pulls his arm away as fast as possible, but it’s too late. A holo projects all around him and its light bathes everything in crimson.

                “Close your eyes,” Hux hisses. As if prompted by the incident, he begins thrusting with a desperation that finally matches Mitaka’s. Mitaka screws his eyes shut and plants his forehead on the desk, palms splayed under his pectorals. The red glow mixes with the darkness behind his eyelids, and dims to dull browns.

                The tension at the base of his spine reaches its peak, keeps steady for a couple of moments, and overflows into the first waves of orgasm. After so much teasing it feels like too much, like some of it will stay within his drawn-up balls, lingering there for days on end. The first jet of come is strong enough to splatter all over the front of the desk, and even bounce back to land on his legs.

                He thinks it will last, but it melts away when the afterglow of orgasm is quickly replaced by hypersensitivity. Mitaka begins whimpering at first, and then moans and writhes, trying to distract himself until the general comes. Hux is close: he can feel it in the even harder shaft and erratic movements. In a desperate attempt, Mitaka tries to clench around Hux’s length to drive him over the edge.

                General Hux is a quiet one when he comes; that, and somewhat needy. He shifts his weight again and sinks his fingers in Mitaka’s hips while he pounds the last of his pleasure into his junior officer. Not a single sound falls from his lips, not even a sigh or an inhalation.

                When his pace finally slows down, his fingers remain deep into Mitaka’s flesh. Mitaka himself is so exhausted he won’t mind even if the general spends the week like that, even if the fingers leave permanent dents in his hips. The first one a tempting thought. Amidst their shared panting (Hux has started breathing again), Hux lets go and... lies on top of him. He’s surprisingly light, a comfortable weight. The red light disappears from the other side of Mitaka’s eyelids, but he’s in no hurry to open his eyes. They stay like that for a while, each catching his breath at his own pace. Now that they’re free, Hux’s hands roam over Mitaka’s sides and shoulders, as if he too can’t believe the other man’s solid physical presence.

                He tucks a stray lock of hair behind Mitaka’s ear.

                “Still not looking? Well done. You didn’t have the clearance, but you can open now.”

                Mitaka’s not sure if he could, or if he _wants_ to. The fact that Hux hasn’t phrased it as an order makes it tempting not to follow the suggestion. He’s ready to curl up right there on the desk and fall asleep. “I’m sorry about that, sir. It was an accident,” he mutters, mostly to wave away the stabbing worry. There may be a breach of security, and his body can’t even be bothered to react according to protocol.

                “I know. Don’t worry about it.” Hux gives a gentle kiss to the nape of his neck and withdraws. When his cock slips out, still somewhat hard, a dribble follows it, and runs down Mitaka’s taint and balls. It makes him giddy, for no other word would come to mind to describe the spark of emotion. If Hux wants their improvement sessions spent like that, Mitaka is ready to be guided every cycle.

                He uses the adjacent refresher to put himself back in order: he can’t go out of General Hux’s office red-faced, crumpled, and panting. Any thoughts on Hux’s guiding methods he has to suppress until he’s in bed, where nothing is required of him, and he could rest and make sense of it all. He hopes there will be more guiding but daren’t ask: it’s enough that Hux didn’t grant his request for reconditioning. With the formal air of a junior officer reporting to their commander restored, he doesn’t want to appear cheeky and incapable of reading the situation. If Hux wants to guide him some more, he’ll tell him. They part as if nothing of interest has happened between them, and Mitaka hurries to his bed.

                He’s quick to fall asleep that night, and on the morning wakes—finally, for the first time in months—fresh and rested. There are cramps and pains Hux has inflicted on him, but it’s a small price to pay. He enjoys them even—they remind him of the great turn of events, even if he knows he’s pushed his luck. If his heart speeds up when Hux comes on the bridge talking to Captain Harkov, he tries his best to focus his attention elsewhere, and give no sign of his inner glee.

                ***

                After Mitaka has left, Hux takes his time to clean up the mess. It is not as bad as he feared, and he does not want to risk his peace of mind by summoning a hospitality droid to do the job. He feels even better than when he puts away a particularly unpleasant report, knowing he will never have to look at it again. He thinks he will sleep well that evening. Lieutenant Mitaka is bolder than anticipated, yet thoughtful. Above all, he is faithful to the respect for hierarchy beaten into all of them since day one at the Academy, something Hux appreciates.

                He also seems to have a lot of ideas as to how Hux can make use of him, and the matching eagerness to be the test subject. It is a pleasant surprise: his desires for a quick fuck are almost the total opposite of Hux’s preference for teasing. The results from the mismatch of expectations will be loud and pleasant to extract, and he looks forward to future guidance sessions.

                He puts his gloves on and props himself on the edge of the desk where Mitaka’s warmth still lingers in the metal. The memory of the lieutenant on his belly, space-black hair and pale skin bathed in the blood-red of classified information— Emperor Palpatine’s research and conclusions on the finer usage of what is now Starkiller Base—rouses a tinge of residual pleasure in his groin. It is not the plans that arouse him so, he reflects, but the effect. The vermilion light illuminating two completely different colours is unexpectedly appealing. He is almost tempted to smuggle in some none-regulation clothes for Mitaka. _Almost_. He is sure the lieutenant has not seen a thing, and even if he has he is too loyal to blabber.

                And if he does; if someone so much as mentions anything that might lead to the lieutenant having seen the plans then, well: Hux will keep the request for reconditioning and act on it should the circumstances require him to. He knows Harkov would rather see one of her finest punished, rather than disposed of.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you [Hereticality](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Hereticality) for betaing; and [wildcursive](http://archiveofourown.org/users/wildcursive) for your unwavering support through fic and headcanon alike.  
> I need to be honest, this is old as fuck and as such my first tiptoeing into Hux's POV. Other fics happened in the meanwhile but I'd hate to leave a WIP... IP, so at last, here it is. If you see stuff that sounds like it happened in some of my other fics, it was probably salvaged from here.


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